


The First Glaive

by The_PrincessCat



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 'The Great War', Cannon universe, Fighting, Gen, Kingsglaive - Freeform, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25321672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_PrincessCat/pseuds/The_PrincessCat
Summary: Young Titus is displaced and is fighting for his life when young Regis finds him. After Regis saves his life, Titus is brought to the crown city. Regis creates the Kingsgalives and has Titus at their front.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11
Collections: A Captain's Tale





	The First Glaive

The clanging of metal on metal rang through Titus’s ears as he swung his sword downwards. There was a slight resistance from the MT’s armor before he sliced it clean through. His blue eyes watched as, armor and all, the MT disintegrated into miasma. 

It had been days of fighting, and Titus was growing weary. He was proud, however, that none of the civilians in his company had been slain in their travels from their home to the new borders of Lucis. He was young, but he was not unaccustomed to fighting. Unlike many of the others he traveled with who had been shopkeepers and farmers. 

“This way!” Titus called out, the group of civilians rushing from their hiding spot behind an outcropping of rocks. The almost dozen women and children moved quickly to join the group of five men who had been fighting with Titus. These were his charges and he wouldn’t let them down. 

“Over there!” One of Titus’s companions called out, pointing to a group of men fighting a larger group of MT Soldiers. For a moment Titus stood in awe with the rest of his group, watching the men work in near perfect synchrony. 

Three of the group looked to be about his age; a young man wearing a black cap with a katana and speed as his weapon; a slightly older man who seemed to be a blur of blue energy wielding a short sword; an even older man wielding a massive sword with power behind every swing; a distinguished gentleman using a saber; and an older man using a large mechanized weapon unlike anything that Titus had ever seen. 

That is when his eyes saw the slight glimmer in the dark hair of the second man. The slight swishing metal crown of the Lucian Royalty. A rage sparked inside Titus’s chest, seeing this man before him as an enemy. It was his father, the King, who had let the wall fall and who had sacrificed his home to the Niffs. 

“There!” Another one of Titus’s companions called out as he pointed to the group. “The Crowned Prince. He's here to save us!”   
  


They didn’t need words to know their next move. As a mob, they rushed forward, crossing the open plains towards the Prince and his retainers. Titus was quicker, just slightly ahead of everyone else. He turned to look over his shoulder, just as a deafening explosion rocked the ground behind him and sent him flying. 

Titus’s vision flooded white as his shoulder dug into the ground. His ears rang and he pushed through the pain to stand. He grabbed at his shoulder, wincing from the pain as his vision slowly cleared. Fingers came away red. There were muffled and distant voices, as if they were speaking through water. Just feet from where he had been standing was a crater and an MT drop ship was flying away from the wreckage. 

There was a hand on his good shoulder as the one of the Prince’s retainers came eye to eye with him. There was a horrid tasting drink shoved to his lips, and everything snapped back, hearing sight and all his senses. “Are you okay?”

“Far from it.” With physical pain all but gone, all that was left was heartache and failure. 

~~~~~~

It was a somber day in Insomnia; the day that King Mors died. Titus hadn’t felt particularly emotional about the man’s death. For the past several years that he had worked under Prince Regis, he had not seen Mors, nor had the man made any active effort to improve relations with the people in the outer portions of his kingdom. 

Mors was just as bad as the Niffs, so far as Titus was concerned. These thoughts, however, remained locked in his head as he grew stronger, letting the crown fund his revenge. Titus trained daily to become better, stronger. 

The regions still under Niffelheim rule were just as far out of his reach as they had been the day Titus’s home had been taken from him. In fact, more regions had fallen and the wall’s protection shrank almost by the day. The quantities of refugees increased, and the fire inside Titus was fed. Day by day. One desire rose above all else. Regain their homes. Every last one of them.

No, Titus had been  _ glad  _ when King Mors died. Regis had become somewhat of a friend and the young Prince’s desire to free his people was palpable. So, it was on the new King’s coronation that Titus came to Regis. 

“Your Majesty.” Titus approached, clearing his throat as he waited to be summoned forward. Regis had aged drastically in the years since he had saved his life. Although Regis was only slightly older than Titus, he appeared nearly ten years his elder. The stress of his father’s illness and the transfer of the wall under him had stressed his body more than words could describe. 

“Drautos.” Regis didn’t turn around, but Clarus shifted, eyes falling on the warrior. Titus had a lot of respect for the Shield, they often trained together, honing each other's skills. In this instance, they both could feel the tension, and knew it was serious. 

“I do hope you haven’t forgotten that which we have spoken about. Don’t forget once you take the King’s title--” Titus stepped forward, the words pleading and the longing in his chest sprang forward. 

“I could never forget, my friend.” 

~~~~~~

“Titus Drautos.” King Regis spoke the man’s name loud and proud from atop the throne as Titus entered the room. It was his first time he had been summoned to such a formal space, and he couldn’t say he liked it. Put a sword in his hand and an enemy under his blade and Titus was at home. He came to kneel before the grand steps and bowed his head. 

“I am planning a project and I am hoping that you will forerunner it with me.” Titus lifted his brow, uncertainty filling his expression. He looked up from the floor, meeting the vibrant blue eyes with his gaze. From his place up high, it was unlikely that the King saw the subtleties in his face. It had been a long time since Regis had taken his throne, and Titus was beginning to doubt that the King would hold true to any promise he had once made. 

“I am a sword to his Majesty; to be used as he sees fit.” Titus hated the Crownsguard. It kept him locked up and away from where the true battle was, where he wanted to be more than anything else. Being put on wall duty or escorting some councilman, just to keep him away from the paparazzi... it felt as if these tasks were meant to distract Titus from the ultimate goal. To put his fire out. 

“Tomorrow morning, meet me at the training grounds. Sunrise. I will have a group gathered and you will be debriefed then.” The topic was closed, and Titus knew better than to argue or attempt to sway the King’s opinions. He was stubborn and set in his ways. 

….

Titus was early the next morning as he was every morning. He was quick to dress, as most of his clothing had been given to him by the Lucian royalty, and he had no issues wearing the blacks. Today, it was his Crownsguard fatigues. 

Making quick work to the training grounds from his apartment, he stood in the cool crisp field waiting for the King to make his appearance. It was likely this project was just another task that the King was going to put on his plate to distract him from the real dilemma; the ever consuming thoughts on his mind. Desire and revenge a constant aftertaste in the back of his mouth.

Overtaking the Imperial Empire was something that would take time, yes, Titus understood this. It had been fourteen years since King Regis had saved him and made his promise. Titus was growing impatient for there was little that had been done.

Every day he grew stronger, but his efforts were passed by. Of course Clarus was to be the next shield, Titus hadn’t expected a foreigner to be considered for the title. It was The Immortal Cor Leonis’s appointment to Marshal that had stung. He believed his talent to be parallel with the younger man, and the appointment still a fresh wound to his ego. So he pressed on, making himself stronger at all costs. 

There was a crunching of boots in the grass behind him. Titus continued to look at the fresh dew on the crisp grass and the small wall that separated the training field from the drop down the slope into the heart of Insomnia. His hand, however, was on the hilt of his blade. There  _ should _ be no danger inside Insomnia’s walls. Perhaps this was another test from the king. He would pass or fail with his own strength. 

“It is a beautiful morning.” King Regis spoke as he came to be next to Titus, Clarus only a step behind. The sun was peeking over the horizon, illuminating the tall structures in the first light of the day. Titus lowered his hand from the hilt of his blade, but otherwise made no movements. 

“For those of us that are free, it is a sight to hold dear. However, there are still those who are not.” There was no bitterness to the words. Titus had lost all of that, turning into a broken record pleading to royalty who couldn’t care less. 

“I am glad you brought that up, my friend.” Regis moved forward, cane supporting him as he walked to the wall. Titus remained put, Clarus now level with him as the King placed a hand on the waist high wall. “I believe you will find my new project to your liking.”

TItus let the King stand in silence as the sun rose higher in the sky. Eyes as blue as the Tenebrean Sylleblossom watched the broad shoulders of the King. It was a moment lost in time, and when Regis was ready, he turned around. 

“I want you to be the first of my new project, to be its leader and form these refugees into a task force that will help us reclaim the lands that were taken from us.” Titus was listening, and if his posture hadn’t been completely erect, it was now. Regis continued, taking a few wobbling steps forward. “You will be my Kingsglaive.”

Titus had heard the whisperings of this pet project, but he had believed it to be a rumor and nothing more. To actually hear it coming from the King, it perhaps meant that he was beginning to take him seriously.

“You will have access to my magics as Clarus and my other retainers. For those that wish, they will be taught to warp, summon their weapons from my Armiger, and use magic that is reserved normally for those of the Lucian bloodline.

“I trust you.” Regis began moving past Titus, and both he and Clarus followed in step behind, listening to the man’s words. “I believe only you can take on this important role. You have a connection with these young refugees and you have a desire to do what is just and needed. Not a single other candidate fit as well as you.

“I would like you to meet the recruits.” They moved in from the open training field and inside through the hallways that branched off into the locker rooms. Further down the hallway they walked to a large meeting room with several benches filled with more people than Titus had been expecting. 

Upon their arrival, they all stood at attention, bringing their hands clumsily to their chest and leaning forward in bows. It was more than obvious that they had only seen this done a small handful of times, and it was amusing to Titus. 

They came to the front of the room, between two hanging TVs, and Regis raised his hands. Behind the new recruits was an exit into an open air training coliseum with a large tower at its center. 

“My new Glaives, I would like you to meet your Captain, Titus Drautos. Together we will do great things. I am confident in your abilities. I look forward to your progress.” King Regis placed his hand on Titus’s shoulder, and he could feel a warm transfer of power into his body. This must be the power of the crystal. 

Once the King and his Shield had left, Titus cleared his throat. “Glaives. Introductions are in order.”

One by one ragtag team of Galahdian, Lucian, Tenebrean and Niffelhiemian refugees introduced themselves. Most had rough combat experience while others were just jaded like he was. “The King believes you hooligans have potential. I will test that.” 

Titus was going to have his hands full if they were to be respectable and combat ready. He had been correct. The King was testing him and he was not going to fail. 

_ For Hearth and Home. _

**Author's Note:**

> A Captain's Tale was the first zine I was in, and I really enjoyed being a part of this amazing project. I am so excited to finally be getting to post this fic. I have a greater appreciation for the man that is Titus Drautos after writing this. I hope you enjoyed it as well and go through and read the other fics that were in the zine! Everything was so good! 
> 
> I appreciate all Kudos and respond to all comments.
> 
> For hearth and home!


End file.
